Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery (16 page)

"Hi, Larry," I said.

He stared intently, trying to place me. The
redhead narrowed her eyes and drew herself up to her full height.
In heels she was at least three inches taller than either Larry or
me. Larry was decked out, three gold chains around his neck and a
pinky ring that would have made Elizabeth Taylor envious. His
polystyrene hair was perfect, like he'd just pulled it out of the
mold and stuck it on his head. He wore denim jeans so tight they
made him stand funny and a western shirt of brilliantly colored
diagonals.

"You come here often?" I asked.

"Oh. . . yeah," he said, recognition dawning,
"you're the chick asking around about Gary."

I took a slug of the beer, struggling not to
grimace.

"Hey, I heard they caught the broad that did
it," he said.

"A
woman
was arrested, yes. But they
don't have much evidence against her. She's out already."

"Hm." He seemed disappointed at the news.

The redhead tightened her death grip on
Larry's shoulder. He seemed to take the hint.

"Well, see ya," he said. They walked toward
the jukebox.

I turned toward the bar where a spot had
opened up. I grabbed it. When I next glanced over at Larry and
Wonder Woman he was earnestly explaining something to her. He
glanced back at me once or twice, then explained some more with
even greater vigor. I smiled back at him, making the task all that
much more difficult.

"'Nother beer for ya?" I glanced up to see
Pete, the bartender, close by.

"No, thanks, I'm still doing great with
this." I would never in a million years finish the whole thing, but
I planned to get good mileage out of it.

The crowd seemed to change slightly, coming
and going after a drink or two. I watched the new faces as they
came in. Larry Burke had finished another game, clearing the table
without giving the other guy a chance. He managed to separate
himself from his gold plated bodyguard for a minute and was
standing in the corner deep in conversation with another man. Their
heads were close together, the conversation obviously private.
Larry looked up just then, saying something to the other guy and
pointing toward me. When the other man faced me, I realized he was
the same one who'd sat next to me at the bar the last time I'd been
here. Interesting.

I quickly turned my back to them,
concentrating on a bowl of popcorn in front of me. I hoped he
hadn't got a good clear look at me. My thoughts were spinning. Did
this have anything to do with my slashed tire? If Larry Burke
perceived me as a threat, what did he have to hide?

Pete came back to check on my drink.

"Who is that guy in the red shirt?" I asked.
"The one talking to Larry Burke?"

Pete looked over my shoulder. "I don't see
anyone," he said. "Which guy?"

I whipped around to look again. Burke, the
redhead, and the other man were gone. I scanned the entire room. No
sign of any of them.

"That's weird," I said. "They were standing
right there, back by the pay phones."

"Maybe they were ready to leave." Pete
shrugged it off. "There's an exit back there. You know, one of
those doors that won't open from the outside, but you push on the
bar inside and you can get out. Fire exit. Required by city code."
He went back to wiping the bar. I sat there wondering what they had
been talking about.

I thought back to the last time I'd been
here. Pete had mentioned the man's name to me, the one who sat next
to me. It had been . . . something easy . . . something like Bill.
No, Willie. That was it. And when Willie had got up to leave he'd
made a phone call first. Suppose he knew that Larry Burke was
somehow involved in Gary's death. If he didn't like my asking
questions, might he have called Larry to report this? Since I'd
already questioned Larry maybe it worried him. Maybe he'd told
Willie to scare me. Maybe by slashing my tire. An uneasy flutter
went through my stomach.

I didn't like the way they'd disappeared so
quickly just now, right after they'd talked about me. Paranoia rose
within me. I thought about my vehicle parked up the street away
from the lights and the people coming and going around the bar. I
didn't like the idea of walking out there alone, but I didn't want
to hang around all evening and give anyone time to cook up
something really bad. My eyes darted around the smoky room for
answers.

A couple near the door stood up and began
putting their coats on. This might be my chance to have an escort
out. I hesitated—I'd really wanted to ask Pete a few more questions
about Gary Detweiller. The couple were saying goodbye to their
table-mates. I grabbed my jacket and pushed through the crowd. They
were at the door, and the man graciously held it open for me along
with his date.

Outside, the wind bit into my legs
ferociously. The storm front predicted for tomorrow was here early.
It was one of those March storms that could bring anything—snow,
rain—in this case, sand. The grainy stuff whipped through the air
blasting everything in its path. I turned my back to the gusts but
not quickly enough. My eyes involuntarily slammed shut, filled with
painful granules.

I stepped back into the small alcove by the
door, rubbing carefully at the corner of each eye. The other couple
had dashed for their car. Its tail lights were already at the
driveway. I glanced up the street at my car. Light from a
streetlamp across the street illuminated it fairly well. It
appeared undisturbed, alone. My fears began to seem unfounded.

A fresh gust slammed into my back, whipping
my hair across my face, chilling me through the thin denim jacket.
I stepped back into the shadows again, scanning the parking lot. No
sign of my three mysterious friends. The hell with it, I decided.
If someone wanted to lurk in this weather to get me, they could
just lurk a while longer. I stepped back inside.

Penguin's crowded, twangy atmosphere felt
warm and friendly this time. I pushed back toward the bar.

"Oh, I didn't know you were coming back,"
Pete said regretfully. "I tossed your beer."

"That's okay," I assured him. "This time I
think I'd just like a glass of water." My teeth felt full of
grit.

"Sure thing. Spruce that up with a lemon
wedge for you?"

The cold water tasted so much better than the
beer that I drank heavily from it and asked for a refill.

"Looks like we've hit on your favorite," Pete
grinned.

"I'm not much of a beer drinker," I
admitted.

"I knew that the other night," he said. "Was
kinda surprised when you ordered it again tonight."

"You're pretty observant." I raised my glass
to him. "Tell me more about Gary Detweiller."

"Never saw the man anyplace but here," he
said. "A guy can be a whole different person from one place to the
other." He dried glasses, stacking them somewhere below the bar out
of my sight.

"In here, he was everyone's buddy, I
gathered."

"Pretty much. I saw him lose his cool
once."

A new voice chimed in. "Hmmph. I sure saw him
lose his cool more than once," the man said. He was sitting on the
stool next to me hugging a whiskey between his palms. Long legged
and slim, wearing Levis, western shirt, and hat, he was about my
age. I must have been slipping not to notice him earlier.

"That's right," Pete said, "you knew Gary
didn't you, Toby?"

Toby turned to me and touched the brim of his
hat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to break in on your conversation,
ma'am."

"Oh, please, my name's Charlie." We shook
hands. Not even little kids have started to call me ma'am yet.

Toby had an incredibly sexy smile, and I
wondered for a flash of a second if he was here alone.

"Tell me more about Gary," I said. "He had a
temper, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Look, I don't mean to speak ill of
the dead, you see." The accent was surely west Texas.

I explained how a friend of mine, a real
lady, was about to take the rap for Gary's death, and how I needed
to find out who really did it.

"If I was you, Charlie, I'd look close to
home," he said. "Gary mighta been a real good ol' boy around here,
but he didn't extend that courtesy to his family. I was only over
there once, now, but I could see he didn't treat that lady of his
with any respect."

"That's too bad," I said.

"Why, where I grew up," he continued, "a man
didn't never hit his woman. My daddy woulda washed my mouth out if
I'd ever talked the way Gary did to that wife and kid of his."

We mused on, discussing the state of the
world today with violence gone crazy, both in the family and in the
streets. Pete tended his other customers, checking back and adding
his opinion every few minutes.

"You know where I think it comes from," Toby
said. "I think it comes from a lack of respect. People don't
respect anything anymore. They don't respect the law, they don't
respect each other or each other's property." He drained the last
drop of his whiskey. "I don't know where that attitude comes from,
but that's what it is."

He set his glass firmly on the bar. "Well,
folks, it's been fun, but I gotta go."

"Toby, could I ask you one last favor?" I
didn't want to seem like a wimp, but I had the feeling this was one
man who wouldn't hold it against me. I explained about my earlier
uneasiness over Larry Burke and his companions waiting out in the
parking lot. "Could you walk me to my car?"

"I'd be more than pleased," he answered in
pure Texan.

When we stood up, I realized for the first
time how big he really was. He stood at least six-three, and his
shoulders were far broader than I'd guessed. A guy this size should
be sufficiently intimidating.

Outside, the wind had not abated. Toby had
slipped on a sheepskin jacket, and I pulled my denim one closer
around me. We walked quickly. My eyes darted around, looking for
any sign of trouble, but I saw none.

"Can I ask you one question?" Toby asked as
we approached the Jeep.

I nodded.

"How come a pretty little girl like you be
named Charlie?"

I had to laugh. I explained to him how I'd
been named after two elderly aunts. Charlotte Louise Parker was a
rather unwieldy name for a kid, and since I was constantly
defending myself against two older brothers, I was sort of a
tomboy. I became Charlie and have been ever since.

He smiled bemusedly. "I'm gonna have to tell
that one to my wife," he said. "Her name's Samantha Jo."

"And everyone calls her Sam?"

"Well, no. We all call her Samantha Jo."

I laughed at the puzzled look on his face as
I got into my car. I thanked him for the conversation and the
bodyguard service, which he shrugged off. Locking my doors, I
started the Jeep. As I pulled away, I saw him in my rearview mirror
walking back toward the parking lot.

It wasn't until I was nearly home that I
realized someone was following me.

Chapter 15

Lomas Boulevard is a major street, crowded
with traffic even at midnight. It hadn't occurred to me that one of
those hundreds of other cars might have its sights on me. I drove
west, my mind flitting over a variety of subjects not the least of
which was how good it would feel to fall into my own comfy bed.

Lomas merges with Central just a few blocks
east of my neighborhood. More cars joined us there. I maneuvered
across three lanes of traffic into the left lane, ready to turn
south on Rio Grande. Maybe because it is a tricky move, one that
has to be accomplished in a short space, I became aware that
another vehicle had done the same thing. As I waited for the light
to change, I glanced back. The strange dark pickup truck edged
closer to me, the driver gunning his engine then hitting his brakes
so the vehicle pounced at me in little jumps. I edged forward,
already across the white crosswalk line. My mind went into high
gear.

I didn't dare drive straight home. I tried to
think—police station, fire station—where could I go? I thought of
the crowds in Old Town. Usually it was packed with tourists but
this time of year, this late at night, it would be deserted. I
couldn't think of the nearest fire station. The closest police
station is downtown, the headquarters. Although there are always
people coming and going, it's a difficult place to access. I didn't
think I could just pull up to the door and honk. What to do? Think.
Think. The light changed.

Without any forethought, I stepped on the gas
as hard as I could. The Jeep leaped forward, and I yanked the wheel
sharply. Horns blared at me as I cut off the cars to my right who
were going straight through the intersection, expecting me to turn
left. I kept the gas pedal floored. Once I'd cleared the cars I'd
so rudely dashed in front of, I glanced back. My pursuer was in the
middle of the intersection, trying to follow my move, but unable to
yet because of the three lanes of cars rushing past him. My heart
pounded.

Just ahead, the road curved to the left and I
lost sight of my foe. I knew, though, that he wouldn't give up. The
first break in traffic he'd be after me again. I steered toward the
far right lane. I knew we'd cross the river soon, and unless I made
a move now, I'd be trapped on the west side, unfamiliar territory
to me, with limited means to get back across.

I took the next side street I came to, with
no idea where this would take me. I passed some apartment buildings
where groups of teens lounged around cars. I didn't take the time
to see what kind of merchandise passed between them, but I had a
fairly good idea. I didn't want to be lost in this neighborhood.
The street came to a T and I debated my choices. Took a right. This
one wound in a series of curves, which I guessed were taking me
north. My eyes darted constantly to the rearview mirror. No lights
appeared yet. My only hope was that my pursuer hadn't seen me turn
off Central. If he had, the rest would be easy. I hadn't made an
unpredictable move since then.